


Sunndach

by uumuu



Series: Linn Ùr [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father/Son Incest, InShipping Treat, M/M, Neck Kissing, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 09:38:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4741559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fëanor and Maedhros enjoy a quiet moment together, far from war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunndach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linndechir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/gifts).



> Many thanks to amyfortuna for beta reading this.
> 
> Formerly titled Joyous; Sunndach means "joyous" in Scottish Gaelic.

Lake Helevorn glinted like a slate of obsidian under the glare of the midday sun, on that cloudless summer day. It was a very warm summer – torrid, almost – the warmest at any rate in the north of Beleriand since the sun had risen. The heat was something they were unused to and not altogether pleasant, but welcome all the same. It was widely believed that the higher temperatures were due to Morgoth's hold on Beleriand weakening after the Ñoldor's victory in the Dagor Aglareb. 

Fëanor dived underwater one last time, then swam to where his feet touched the rocks of the lake-bottom, and walked out of it. He stopped on the shore and looked around, impressing in his mind the beauty and tranquility of that spot in Thargelion. 

There was no trace of any other living creature. Meadows and trees alternated where the water didn't reach, and the mountains from which Caranthir kept watch over the lake and the passes were but a sequence of uneven blotches in the distance. 

He could almost have believed they were back in the remote, truly peaceful corners of Valinor, before the grief and turmoil that had marked their departure.

He could have, but he didn't want to. They were free, fighting their war – and winning. 

He had devised a new type of missile that was infinitely more powerful than arrows, shot by a machine which had been dubbed by the army at large simply fire-arm, though he and Curufin and Maglor were still discussing a more technically appropriate name. Skepticism had been rife at first, when he had deployed a line of the machines on the plains of Ard-Galen. Skepticism had crumbled together with the doors of Angband, had been crushed along with the orcs and balrogs caught in the explosions or under the debris. Morgoth himself had been forced to hew a path out of the fortress through the rubble with his mace.

It hadn't done him much good. Three well-aimed shots had all but destroyed the lower part of his left leg, causing him to crash down to the horrified surprise of the orcs, who had instantly fled, and the much more hopeful surprise of the Elves, buying Fëanor himself enough time to cut one of the Silmarils from his crown. Morgoth, now dubbed Morgoth the Coward, had had to appeal to all of his might in order to crawl back to the depths of his fortress.

Fëanor turned towards the north-west, where the Silmaril glinted on top of the highest peak in the mountains of Himring like a beacon – or a star – and was a challenge to Angband and its denizens. It was almost as much of a provocation to all other inhabitants of Beleriand.

The war would be won. Angband was now surrounded by a line of fire. Fëanor was devising more advanced weapons and studying a way to harness the power of the sun to their advantage.

He was working so assiduously in fact that Curvo and Tyelpo had practically kicked him out of the workshop they shared on the slopes of the hills facing Himlad, and forced him to take a few days' rest along with Maedhros, who had just returned from the front. 

He surveyed the meadow behind him, and spotted Maedhros still reclining where he had left him. He put the Silmaril and thoughts of war behind him, and headed towards the trail of bent grass he had been using to get in and out of the lake. 

Maedhros lay face-down on their shared towel, seemingly asleep. Fëanor snuck up to him, his footfalls light on the soft meadow. He crouched down, and stooped over to press a kiss on his nape, but as he did droplets of water from his hair fell on Maedhros's back, starting him awake.

“Dad!” he mumbled, wriggling his shoulders at the sudden brush of cold on his sweaty skin.

“Sorry,” Fëanor said, but dropped three more kisses down his spine all the same. “It's getting too hot. Let's move under the nearest grove,” he went on, casting a glance at the aspen tree from whose branches their clothes and weapons hung.

Maedhros yawned, turned on his side and beckoned for Fëanor to get down next to him. “In a while,” he mumbled.

Fëanor had no time to make himself comfortable. As soon as he was lying on his side, Maedhros threw his arms around his neck, and pressed his left thigh between his legs.

“Have you rested well?” he asked. 

“Well enough,” Maedhros replied, “though I'm still offended that you would prefer swimming to my company.”

Fëanor would have, only decades earlier, jested about Maedhros's inveterate laziness, teased him, but it would have been uncalled-for now, gazing at his dark-ringed eyes and the scars on his body. Maedhros had spent months on end surveying the blockade on Ard-Galen, making sure that no orcs and no other creature would get out of Angband. 

“Well, I'm here with you now,” he said instead, and rubbed his still damp hand down Maedhros's back to his buttocks, to which he gave a hearty squeeze.

Maedhros smiled at that (not that he would have needed any enticement). He used the advantage of his greater size to push Fëanor back until he was lying half on his back and his father's body was almost entirely enveloped by his own. He soon felt Fëanor harden against his thigh, and started moving it to second his budding arousal.

He raised his left hand from his father's shoulders, but it wasn't gone from his father's body for long. It glided over his side, where it stopped to tickle, to their cocks. He himself was only half-hard, but it didn't take long for the familiar contact and the warmth to stir him.

His right hand gave a firm tug on Fëanor's hair and Fëanor tilted his head back, leaving his neck open to him. He licked from the hollow above his collarbone to his chin, where he couldn't resist biting. A lock of Fëanor's wet hair remained trapped between their bodies, and as he pressed closer water dripped from it down both their chests to where Maedhros's hand held their cocks together.

Fëanor bucked in his hold, eyes closed against the sunlight, his mouth open to give voice to his pleasure. Maedhros sucked forcefully on his neck, could feel the humming of pleasure there, the accelerated blood-pulse under his lips. It was a lasting thrill and joy to him, how easily the mastermind, the indefatigable creator, the wilful man of action, came undone in his arms. Even in Valinor, when battles had been bloodless and there had been no scar just below his father's jaw for him to mark as his own, he had rejoiced to be the one to whom that privilege had fallen, before all of his brothers, or anyone else.

Fëanor began to writhe as his mouth grew more and more demanding in its attentions and his hand focused on rubbing and squeezing their cockheads together, until he came, clinging with his arms to Maedhros's back. Maedhros followed not long after, latching with his teeth onto the middle of his neck.

A patch of red marked the skin there when he let go of it. He let go of his father's hair too, and as soon as Fëanor tilted his head back up he kissed him on the lips. “So, is it not better to stay with me, peacefully, without care?” he murmured against them. 

The playful words, hinting at a security that was not yet entirely within their grasp, seemed to ignite resolve in Fëanor's orgasm-glazed eyes again. “After we defeat Morgoth, we will stay like this until we become fed up with it,” he fervidly said then stood up, extending a hand towards Maedhros. “Come now, let's have a quick wash and then we'll eat lunch.”

“Ah, the lake again,” Maedhros jested, but accepted to be pulled up. 

They ran hand in hand towards the lake, where they splashed water at each other, laughing, and laughing they dived in.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Maedhros has both his hands - my idea is that he was never captured here, but it could also be that he was and his father then made him a fully-working mechanical hand.


End file.
